She inhaled, trying not to focus on how close he was, on the faint scent of cedar and that intriguing spicy scent.
“Again.”
She breathed. He moved the stethoscope and listened again, then frowned slightly.
“Your heart rate is elevated.”
No kidding.
“Is it?” She aimed for casual. “I walked here. Maybe that’s why.”
His gaze flicked to hers, assessing. For a moment, she thought he’d call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded.
“Possible. We’ll monitor it.”
He checked her reflexes and her abdomen, each touch of those big warm hands creating a completely inappropriate spark of pleasure. She was painfully aware that her nipples had pebbled under the thin paper gown, and she kept her eyes fixed on the floral wallpaper.
It’s just because no one has touched me in so long, she told herself, but she’d seen at least four other doctors at her old practice and she hadn’t reacted that way to any of them. He asked her questions about nausea and fatigue and movement. She forced herself to breathe and concentrate on her answers, relieved when her voice came out mostly normal.
Finally, he stepped back.
“Everything looks good. I’ll do the ultrasound now.” He moved to the machine in the corner, flipping switches. “Lie back, please.”
She obeyed, staring determinedly at the ceiling as he draped a sheet across her lower half. “Now lift the gown to just beneath your breasts.”
Her hands shook as she obeyed, feeling utterly exposed, but at least it gave her an excuse to cover her traitorous nipples. He pulled the machine closer, then picked up the bottle of gel. He squeezed a generous amount onto her stomach and she jumped at the cold.
“My apologies.”
His voice was low. She risked a glance at his face and found him watching her, his expression unreadable. Then he picked up the wand. His knuckles brushed against her side as he pressed it to her skin, and she had to bite back a gasp at the sheer intimacy of the touch.
“You’ll be able to see everything on the screen.”
She looked. At first, all she could see was a swirling mass of grey and black, a chaotic storm of shapes. Then he moved the wand slightly and she heard it. A rapid, rhythmic drumming filled the room, like the wings of a hummingbird. The steady, relentless thump-thump-thump of a tiny heart.
Her own heart seized.
“That’s the heartbeat.” His voice was softer now, almost reverent. “Strong and steady. Everything looks perfect.”
She couldn’t speak. She just watched the screen, at the small, perfect being moving inside her. She’d had ultrasounds before, but this one felt different, more real somehow. Her vision blurred. She blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, spilling hot down her temples.
“Is everything all right?” His voice was closer now, concerned.
“Fine,” she managed. “Just… that’s my baby.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “Yes. It is.”
She risked a glance at him. He was staring at the screen, his expression unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Something almost… possessive.
He cleared his throat, the spell broken. “As you can see, the head and limbs are the appropriate size for twenty-four weeks. All theorgans appear to be functioning normally. Do you want to know the sex?”
The question caught her off guard. In the city, the question had been asked by a nurse who barely made eye contact, her hand already poised over the chart to check the correct box. Here, with his blue eyes waiting for her answer, it felt more significant.
“No,” she whispered, her gaze returning to the screen. “No, I want it to be a surprise.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “A wise choice. One of the few genuine surprises left in the world.”
He finished the ultrasound with efficient professionalism, though his touch seemed to linger a second longer than necessary when he wiped the gel from her stomach. Then he told her to get dressed and meet him in his office. She hurried behind the screen, her hands trembling as she pulled her dress back on. What was wrong with her? He was her doctor. She was pregnant and alone and she was mooning over him like a teenager.
